by Golden Angel
"You don't really want me to stop," he murmured, pulling her down for a kiss as his hand slid into the top of her dress. Her breast was warm and heavy in his hand, the little nipple already hardening into a bud. The protest she tried to voice was muffled, first by his lips and then by his tongue as he thrust it into her mouth. Pinching her nipple, he tugged it fully to hardness, feeling her shudder on his lap as she moaned into his mouth.
Bending her back, so that she had to catch his shirt to keep from falling back completely, Hugh deepened the kiss and took advantage of her precarious balance to more fully open her dress so that, other than the thin chemise, her breasts were bared to the air. He ignored her muffled protest. It was unlikely that any of the servants would enter without knocking and he rather liked the idea of debauching his wife in the middle of the day, in his study, with an unlocked door. Especially since she obviously found it to be a scandalous proposition.
If anyone did see her in such a state he would be furious and jealous, but the idea that someone might walk in was rather exciting. And, despite her protests, he thought that she felt the same.
Releasing her lips from the kiss, Hugh moved his mouth down her neck and to her breasts. Irene moaned as he closed his lips over one of her nipples, sucking on the hard little bud through her chemise. The wetted fabric clearly showed the rosy outline when he was done with it, and he transferred his attentions to the other. She whimpered his name and the blood in his body seemed to surge down to his cock, the hard rod pressing against the cheeks of her bottom as she squirmed and shuddered.
Her hands were now clutching at the lapels of his jacket and she’d stopped fighting him, all of her movements were that of an aroused, passionate woman. Exactly how he wanted her. Hugh wanted to drive his wife beyond the point where she cared whether or not someone walked in, to the point where her entire focus was on him and the things he was doing to her malleable body.
"Are you wet, Irene?" he asked, grasping her by the waist and lifting her to his desk. Seating her on it directly in front of him, he slid his chair forward to insert himself between her thighs, his hands on the inside of each of her legs to keep them spread. The front of her dress gaped, the unbuttoned flaps falling to either side, so that she was only truly covered by her chemise. The wet fabric over her nipples clung to the hard tips, causing her to look even more provocative. Her face was flushed and her eyes had that shiny dazed look that he associated with her arousal. She lowered her gaze and shook her head, unable to meet his eyes, and he grinned. "I think you might be lying wife... I suppose I'll just have to check."
"Hugh, noooo..." She looked over her shoulder at the closed door, her protest soft, as she tried to push her skirts back down from where he was lifting them.
Laughing at her, Hugh leaned forward so he could gently push her down until she was lying flat on her back on his desk, her legs hanging over the edge. With the top of her dress completely open and her skirt up around her hips, his wife looked more wanton than proper. His cock throbbed with excitement at seeing her laid out like this; in his fantasies she’d always been completely naked by this point, but the open clothing added a certain spice to reality that just couldn’t be beat.
Pulling her legs up and over his shoulders to make her more comfortable – having them hang like that looked rather awkward - and so that she couldn't close them, he grinned at her as he wrapped one arm around her thigh and laid his hand over her mound with its coppery curls, stroking one finger down between her folds. It came away soaking wet.
"You lied, wife."
******
Irene closed her eyes as the heat rose in her face at her husband’s self-satisfied tone. When she'd come into Hugh's study this morning, this was the last thing she had expected - or she would have locked the door behind her! And at the same time, the possibility of being caught did, indeed, make this entire encounter even more exciting. It felt as though her pulse was pounding through her veins, her anxiety adding to the burning desire that he had kindled in her. Her skin was buzzing with Hugh's touch, her nipples aching for more attention from his mouth and fingers, and the wetness between the folds of her womanhood was increasing with every second.
She moaned as she felt Hugh's fingers part those folds, his hot breath coming a moment before his tongue slid up the center and flicked against the little pleasure nub at the apex. Irene knew that, in all propriety, she should resist further, she should at the very least close her dress back over her breasts, but she didn't. Instead she just moaned and threaded her fingers through her husband's hair as he lapped at the cream his ministrations had produced.
The chair behind him scraped on the floor as he scooted even closer, and Irene realized that Hugh had seated himself comfortably so that he could attend to her at his leisure. She knew that her husband sometimes had desires that were nothing like she'd been prepared for, and she had to wonder if this was one of them... had Hugh sat in his study, wanting the chance to lay her out across his desk like this and use his mouth on her sensitive folds? It didn't seem at all unbelievable.
It felt like he was peeling back the petals of her body, taking his time as he nibbled each one and drew his tongue along each crevice. The sensations made her body tighten and quiver, but they weren't enough to bring her to the ultimate pleasure... no, he was teasing her, taunting her with his mouth, almost mocking her for her claim that he hadn't made her wet.
"Hugh, please," she begged, gasping as his tongue actually felt like it slid inside of her. Her head thrashed back and forth on the desk, her hips moving up and down as she tried to force Hugh's head into the position she wanted. Needed. The pressure was building up inside of her and it had nowhere to go.
"Are you wet, Irene?"
"Yes!"
As if in reward for her honesty, his tongue slid back inside of her and out of her again, the same way his fingers or his rod might and Irene bucked and moaned. Her legs tightened over his shoulders, trying to draw him further into her body, needing him desperately.
"Do you want to cum, Irene?"
"Yes, Hugh, please, I want to cum," she begged, forgetting in her need to keep her voice down. Her movements were causing her breasts to jiggle, the nipples rubbing against the fabric of her chemise which felt rough and abrasive where it had been wetted by his mouth. The throbbing of those tender buds seemed to be pulsing in time with the needy clenches of her core. "Make me cum, please Hugh."
His tongue circled her clitoris, brushing against it, and Irene's hips jerked as she writhed with the ecstatic sensation. The pressure inside of her seemed to surge, but didn't break, as he dipped back down into her slit before coming back up to tease the swollen bud again. Irene tried to leverage herself to press the sensitive spot more firmly against her husband's tongue, but it just circled and swept away again. The teasing was driving her out of her mind.
"OH! Hugh please!"
"Do you want me to fuck you, Irene?"
Irene moaned, the crude word making her shudder even as a surge of anticipation made her tighten. He'd heightened her passionate need to the point where she felt rather wild with it.
"Hugh, please..."
"Say it, Irene."
She opened her eyes as her legs were lowered and Hugh stood up. The hungry look he gave her as he began to unlace the front of his trousers left her no doubt that he was just as aroused as she was. The position he’d left her in wasn’t entirely comfortable, but she could see how it affected him.
Something new, something wicked, unfurled inside of her. She’d seen this look on his face before, but she’d never thought to use it. Now she wanted to make him feel as out of control as she did. Irene licked her lips, finding that Hugh's gaze suddenly locked onto her mouth when she did so.
"Please Hugh," she whispered, bringing her hands up to her breasts, which were absolutely aching. It felt amazing. She ran her fingertips over the mounds, her back bowing a bit as the soft touch teased her nipples. Hugh’s eyes flared with passion and she squeezed her breasts
, watching him watch her. "Please..."
"Irene..." His voice sounded suddenly ragged, and she could tell that he had frozen in place. It was as if a match had been struck inside of her head, igniting her, emboldening her. Irene did something she’d never thought of before; she released one breast and moved her hand over the soft fabric of her chemise and the bunched skirts, down to her mound, and pressed her finger right against where she ached the most. It felt almost as good as when Hugh touched her there.
"Hugh...” Irene moaned, sliding her fingers over the wet flesh. “Please..."
"Dammit Irene..." Her husband's voice grated, a violent movement snatched her hand away, holding her wrist in his long fingers, and suddenly his rod was pressing against her, pressing into her.
For the first time, she'd managed to elude what he wanted in favor of what she wanted, by behaving like a complete wanton. It was empowering. Erotic. And the rewards were oh so wonderful. Not that she had any particularly strong feelings against saying ‘fuck,’ but denying him had been wonderful, teasing him even more so and this...
Irene gasped as Hugh thrust hard and deep, splitting her open quite suddenly. As well lubricated as her channel was, it was still a shock for those tight muscles to be so forcibly pushed aside as his rock hard length was buried inside of her. He hooked his arms under her legs, bringing them up so that he could pull her into his thrusts, taking her more deeply.
It felt like he was filling her completely, harder and thicker than ever before, and Irene gripped the edges of the desk, next to her hips, as he began to pound in and out of her. Every time he used his arms to leverage her body into his, she groaned from the incredible sensation. His thrusts were wild, as if he was out of control, and the raw, animalistic passion that she saw on his face was as frightening as it was exciting.
Crying out his name, Irene's body bowed and ached as he took her. The rough passion consumed her, the friction of his fast, deep thrusts making it feel as though she was burning inside and out. The pressure that had built up inside of her swelled and pulsed until she thought she might go mad from it.
“Dammit Irene… Come for me… I want you to scream my name…”
And then Hugh leaned forward, his body pressing against her clitoris as he rocked against her, and Irene's body was engulfed in flames. The ecstasy burgeoned outwards, from a singular point deep inside of her, and filled her completely. She screamed her passion, not a single thought spared for the staff which might be passing by the room at any time.
Hugh's hands gripped her hips, pulling her even more firmly against him as his breathing grew more ragged. Bent nearly in half, her legs splayed and held tightly by his arms, Irene had no defense from the waves of pleasure that continued to swell and surge through her to the point of becoming almost painful in their intensity. She sobbed his name again, pleading with him to slow, to stop, to give her a moment to recover... but her pleas only seemed to increase his passion.
Irene couldn't even let go of the desk to try and use her hands to slow him, his thrusts were so rough, so strong, that she was hanging on for dear life, her fingers locked around the wood. She screamed, high and piercing, as he seemed to grow even larger inside of her and the burning, tingling rapture become too much to bear. Her womb contracted and she writhed, her breasts jiggling, and her body squeezing him tightly over and over again.
Tears leaked down her cheeks as the hardness inside of her became completely unyielding, and then Hugh bellowed his own triumphant ecstasy. Irene gasped for air as her husband rocked against her, the hard rod inside of her pulsing as he released his seed deeply within her. She could feel every spurt, every throb of his member, and she clenched around it, causing him to groan and close his eyes. Hugh’s head tilted back as he filled her, his body slowly relaxing. Then his head fell forward again and the rest of his body followed it, leaning forward to rest his head on her breasts as the last of his climax shuddered through him.
"Mmmm...." Hugh rubbed his head against her breasts, making Irene gasp and clench around him again. Every inch of her body felt exquisitely sensitive in the aftermath of her orgasms. Unwrapping her grip from around the edge of the desk, Irene winced a bit as she flexed sore fingers and reached up to clasp her husband to her. Raising his head at her touch, he gave her an inquisitive look. "And where did all that come from, wife? Have you been touching yourself when I’m not around?"
She blushed hotly. Now that she was coming down from the heights of pleasure, her behavior seemed inexplicable and rather shocking. Although, she still had to admit Hugh's response to it had been very satisfying. "No, I’ve never done anything like that before. I'm not sure... I think... I don't know."
"Well it was delightful," he said, pulling back and pulling her with him as he sat down on his chair, her legs straddling his and her breasts directly in front of his face. Kissing her nipples, one after the other, Hugh grinned at her, looking nothing at all like the golden angel he sometimes resembled and much more like a self-satisfied and dangerous rake. "Anytime the notion takes you again, feel free to run with it."
He pulled her lips down, kissing her deeply, their bodies still joined together. When he finally released her, Irene began to squirm away from him as she remembered that the door was unlocked and the servants might come in at any time. Especially now that there were no noises coming from behind the closed door.
Blushing deeply, although more than a little pleased and quite a bit emboldened by Hugh's obvious appreciation of her wanton behavior, Irene accepted his help in setting herself to rights. Sticky seed seeped down her inner thighs and onto the tops of her stockings, which Hugh wouldn’t let her clean up.
“I like knowing that it’s there,” he murmured, pulling her skirts down over her hips and kissing her again to stifle her protest.
Sighing, Irene decided to let him have his way for the moment. After all, as soon as she was alone she could wipe the uncomfortable mess away. And there was something strangely titillating about having his seed decorating her inner thighs, with no one the wiser. Hugh helped to straighten her rumpled skirts and hindered more than helped to button up her dress. He chuckled over the state of her hair, which caused her to scold him. He stopped her with a kiss, and was still kissing her when a knock came on the door.
Immediately, Irene pushed him away as her face flamed. Her hands flew to her hair, hastily pulling the rest of the pins out and pushing it into the semblance of a bun, so that at least it wasn’t a completely mess. The look her husband gave her was decidedly amused and she scowled at him.
"Yes?" Hugh said after a moment, even though Irene hadn’t quite finished fixing herself up yet. She kicked his ankle and he wagged a finger at her.
The door opened to reveal their butler, Marling. He looked at them with a blank expression, not even blinking. The lack of reaction didn't stop Irene from feeling incredibly embarrassed, knowing that she didn’t look the way she should and that it was very possible Marling knew perfectly well what had been happening in here.
"Lord Braithwhyte is here to see you, my Lord."
"Thank you, Marling. You may put him in the library, I'll speak with him in there." Reaching out, Hugh caught Irene's hand before she could leave and pulled her to him for another thorough kiss.
Beet red and yet glowing from within, Irene retreated from the study a few minutes later, avoiding the entrance to the library.
******
Standing outside the stylish townhouse, Irene gathered her courage. After a few days to think things over, she had come to a rather lowering conclusion: she needed to apologize. In fact, she'd meant to be at this house earlier in the morning, when it was more likely that Lady Grace would be home, but then her interlude in Hugh's study had distracted her as well as necessitating a change of her underskirts and a redoing of her toilette.
She hoped that Lady Grace would be at-home, and hopefully not entertaining a large number of guests. If Irene's mother heard that Irene had visited the scandalous Viscountess... well Irene d
idn't like to think how her mother would react. Although being Hugh's wife offered her quite a bit of protection, especially as her mother was so pleased by her daughter's current position in Society, she wouldn't be forgiving of anything that might endanger that position.
But Irene needed to do this. Not just because Alex was going to reconcile with Lady Grace, or because she and Eleanor were such good friends, but because it was the right thing to do. Irene had been immature and, when she thought about it, rather uncaring and cruel when Grace had only been reacting as any wife would in such a situation. In fact, Grace had been rather circumspect and tolerant. In addition, Irene needed to apologize for her physical attack, which had been completely uncalled for, no matter the situation.
Irene gathered her courage and walked up the steps to the house.
Knocking on the door, she held her chin up high. She'd dressed to help her confidence today, although she'd been steadily gaining in the commodity since being married. Today she'd needed the little boost of her favorite bronze and ivory dress with its dark green trim; she knew she looked particularly well in it, and even if she wasn’t as fashionable or sophisticated as Lady Grace, she almost felt like it in this dress.
When the door opened, Irene blinked. Had she knocked on the wrong door? "Peters?"
The man at the door looked rather startled, the first time she'd ever seen such an expression on his face. She hadn't seen him in years. This was certainly the last place she'd expected to find him, and was probably the last place he would have expected to see her. Although he'd never said it, Irene had always thought Peters knew more about what went on in the Brooke household and the extent of her feelings for Alex than anyone else. Of course, he’d been a footman then and not a butler, but she was sure he’d make a good one. His surprise was only evident for a moment, and then his face assumed the usual blank expression of the best butlers.
